


reid's paradox

by orphan_account



Series: the autistic leanings of the bau [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Autistic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, autism headcanon, autistic headcanon, even tho asperger syndrome is an obselete diagnosis lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: spencer reid was simultaneously the easiest yet hardest person to read.





	reid's paradox

when spencer first joined the bau, he had gideon to take care of him through his meltdowns, shutdowns, nonverbal stretches, and everything else that cropped up because of his neurodivergency. it wasn't like he could explain these things himself, and even if he was in a state to, he still felt uncomfortable when people picked up on the fact that he was _special_ , or whatever they were calling it these days. his surrogate father either explained away behaviour like stimming and refusing to talk or he just stared at the curious person until they felt compelled to walk away and never come back. hotch had carefully learned the language of eye contact and of defending himself as well as others without words partly from his own childhood, and partly because gideon used that look frequently (and, of course, there was the fact that he had a flat affect anyway, and that his resting face mostly intimidated those who didn't know him). he'd learned why it was called eye _contact_ , and how to unsettle people by using it to his advantage.   
now that gideon had left, spencer found himself without a protector and without someone who would be strong for him when he was falling apart. they weren't on a case but somehow that made it worse; the bullpen was full of people he knew and if he embarrassed himself in front of them, he'd consider quitting his job.  
one of the flourescent lights on the ceiling was flickering, and in hindsight, spencer realised that was the stone that broke open the floodgates. it didn't usually flicker but the bureau handyman was away on vacation until the next day so there was nobody to fix it before the working day began. it made a tinny rattling noise, slowly penetrating spencer's skull until he couldn't focus on the files he was supposed to be digitising anymore. he closed his eyes in annoyance, putting one hand on his forehead and hoping that the light would either burst or miraculously fix itself. either way, he just wanted it to stop. the combination of _break in routine_ and _persistent loud noise_ had him almost tearing his eyes out in frustration.  
the lunch hour had just ended and agents were filing in through the glass door, blissfully unaware of the defective lightbulb that had plagued spencer since 9:00am on the dot. the many conversations that were happening at the same time were all insignificant on their own but together, they created an intolerable and deafening noise. spencer whimpered quietly, gripping his knee so tightly that his knuckles were white with his right hand and holding his hand on his forehead with his left. in his chair, he rocked back on forth using the balls of his feet to propel him. he must have looked ridiculous to any outsiders but he was coping. he was coping in his own _special_ way.  
suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and that only consolidated his earlier impulse to run away. spencer faintly heard a voice that he could vaguely connect to his collegue derek but he kept running until he was inside an unoccupied room.  
practically punching the light switch, he made sure all the lights were down and that the blinds were closed. it was only then that he realised that in his rush to get as far away from the noise as possible, he'd left his messenger bag behind at his desk. his messenger bag that contained his books and his fidget cube and his tangle. his messenger bag that he used to pressure stim. his messenger bag that he held on his lap and hugged whenever he felt stressed.  
tears built up in his eyes before spilling over and he itched at his skin (he could tell he was on his way to a shut down because he got so goddamn _itchy_ ). spencer practically felt as if his world had been pulled from underneath him and his breaths were getting shallower and he felt like this would last forever-  
until it didn't.  
eventually, everything seemed to slow down and the world outside didn't seem to matter anymore. like coming down from a high (because he knew exactly what that was like), everything stopped seeming threateningly solid and started seeming far away while still staying tangible. tears were still flowing down his face but they were much less frequent now even though the back of his head was hitting the wall because of the force with which he was rocking with.  
at the point he'd gotten to, spencer wasn't sure if he could speak or even communicate in any way. he wasn't sure if he wanted to, either. spencer didn't remember how or when or why, but he was sitting on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards. the simple action made him feel calmer and safe; he was at home, he did it while he was reading because it helped him concentrate. his body was small and frail and his eyes were wide, even though he wasn't consciously registering any visual input. all he could feel was his internal thoughts and how hot he felt and the faint thoughts of "i wish gideon was here with me" that somehow surfaced when he wasn't capable of thinking them.  
he'd become a ghost of himself in the space of fifteen minutes because of a flickering lightbulb.  
the door to his room creaked open and spencer started to sob at the noise, covering his ears with both hands and barely keeping himself from screaming. the door closed again and he kept on rocking, just wanting for all the stimulation to die down so he could sleep and recover. spencer eventually found it hard to breathe, forcing him to slightly uncurl from the ball he was forming with his body.  
a messenger bag had appeared in front of him sometime between the door opening and him uncurling. it wasn't just any bag- it was his! spencer stared at it, his face unmoving but his mind celebrating the fact that it was within arm's reach. despite this fact, he couldn't make himself tear his hands off his ears or stop rocking, even though he was sat marginally straighter by this time.  
a foreign hand made its way into his field of vision. the back of it was hairy and there was a wedding band on it. only one member of the team even knew where he would have gone in this state and who was married.  
"hotchner," spencer breathed, his eyes widening and his rocking speed slowing.  
"hotchner," a disembodied voice repeated above him, sounding soothing after the assault on all of his senses that was the broken lightbulb.  
"hotchner," spencer whispered again, liking the way that the word fell out of his mouth. "hotchner. hotchner. hotchner."  
"are you okay?" the disembodied voice said again. if spencer could read emotions, he'd say the man was worried.  
"echolalia- noun. definition one, in context of psychiatry: meaningless repetition of another person's spoken words as a symptom of psychiatric disorder. definition two: repetition of speech by a child learning to talk."  
spencer repeated this until he saw the hand reach into his messenger bag before stopping, practically holding his breath. while he'd been uselessly repeating words, the tears had stopped. they threatened to come back (because _nobody_ touches his messenger bag) but the ordeal was over as soon as it'd started, offering him his fidget cube.  
spencer reached out warily, not spaced out enough to be unaware that aaron hotchner was with him in the room but spaced out enough for the severity of the situation to have not hit him yet. he was just going to have to worry about getting fired later, but for now, he was just focused on his cube.


End file.
